Partners
by BlueHawaii
Summary: The Company sets out to find and employ more people, starting with Peter and Gabriel. As the years go by, they team up to help. Eventual Petlar.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Partners

**Author:** Bluehawaii

**Pairing:** Gabriel 'Sylar' Gray/Peter Petrelli

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes

**Summary:** The Company sets out to find and employ more people, starting with Peter and Gabriel. As the years go by, they team up to help. Eventual Petlar. Both are around 17 years old.

**A/N:** Ignore the rubbish summary, hopefully the story is better. The Petlar won't happen until later on, as I must get the plot out the way first.

Also, I was tempted to name it, Partners (In every sense of the word), but decided against it in the end. Please read and review.

**Chapter 1**

Peter Petrelli was use to his cries of 'I'm home' falling on no ones ears, but his own. He knew all too well that the two words echoed as far as the kitchen, but got no further. He also knew his pair of black tattered trainers would sit on their own, by the door, for quite a while before another pair joined them. None of this, however, stopped his daily routine. Everyday he hoped for a surprise, maybe a new ending to the story he had read every night since his early childhood. Though, deep down he had readied himself for disappointment.

Following the routine, he left his bag where he would find it tomorrow morning, and ventured over to the blinking red light on the phone. Without looking, he went to press the play button, but before he did he searched for the notepad that was usually within reach of the phone.

Where he found it, on the other hand, was decidedly not in reach.

It was rare that Peter ever saw his brother, Nathan, relax. Even at Christmas time, he always had something important on his mind. Other times, whenever he had completed the reason he had visited, as it was rarely a social thing; during the goodbyes, he would stand next to Peter, place his hand on his head and comment on how little he had grown since the last time he had seen him.

So as Peter stood in the foyer of his parents so-called mansion, he realised he had missed one of Nathan's uncommon drop-ins. But instead of leaving disappointed he left with an action that proved he was in a relatively good mood.

Next to the phone, there was a huge mahogany cabinet, containing expensive things Peter had never dared to tamper with. Cluttering the lower shelves were an assortment of books that, due to their proximity to the expensive things, he had never read. Resting precariously on the top was the notepad.

From where he was standing, he could clearly see the chairs neatly lined around the dining room table, and with a quick stretch on his tip-toes, Peter found he was quite a few feet too short.

Flicking his gaze over to the chair again, he debated with himself whether to do this the hard way, involving manual labour, or the easy way, involving a lot more fun.

In the end, the bored part of Peter's mind won out. With a slight smile pulling the corner of his mouth up, he stood as close to the cabinet as he could without actually touching it; and pushed his toes into the polished wood flooring. He rose to the balls of his feet, but then he rose further. Peter closed his eyes as he slowly crept higher. When he eventually opened them again he did so to see the notepad sitting a few inches from the tip of his nose. Peter reached out, being careful not to knock anything. With it now safely clutched in his hand, he let himself slowly lower back down to solid ground.

Never once did the smile leave his face, during the tiny flight, and when he spotted what had been hastily scribbled on the front sheet, a grin replaced it.

In Nathan's, somehow, graceful scrawl, Peter stared at the word 'cheater'. Nothing was hidden behind the word. There was no cryptic message with it; just simple, playful banter between brothers and Peter found he couldn't stop grinning. With the crooked smile still plastered on his face, he flipped over the sheet and went to continue with his routine.

He was in the midst of jotting down a phone number of someone his mother desperately needed to call back, when the doorbell rang. Luckily, that had been the last message, so Peter put the notepad back in its original place, then walked towards the door. The first thing he noticed, upon opening it, was the unusual horn-rimmed glasses the man on his doorstep was wearing. He was sure he had seen them before, but couldn't recall where.

Peter was brought out of his train of thought by the man deciding to speak up.

"Peter Petrelli."

It was not question; this man knew who he was. Knowing this, Peter still felt the need to answer him.

"Yes?"

Over the man's shoulder, he could see another man, leaning with him back to one of the tinted windows of a black car.

"Me and my friend here work for a company designed to help people like you."

Nathan often referred to them as 'these things we can do' whereas Peter liked to think of them as abilities, something a bit more positive.

"We know what you are capable of, Peter. And I'm sure you have lots of questions and I would like to answer them for you."

Peter had to fight down the urge to jump up and down on the spot and the excitement bubbled in his stomach. No one outside him and Nathan had ever acknowledged these gifts before and Peter wasn't sure how to handle it.

"If you'd like to come with us, we could explain it a lot better."

Now, Peter knew better than to get into cars with strangers but how often do you wake up with the ability to fly. At the moment, the sheer bizarreness of the situation was winning over the logical decision; and since Peter felt he knew this man, he wasn't a total stranger. These facts made following the man to his car seem less stupid.

The other man said nothing as he moved from his position, leaning on the car, to open the door. Nor did he utter a word when Peter politely thanked him, before climbing in. The new car smell was still prominent, but Peter noticed a hint of something else underneath it, something bitter.

Not for the reason of safety, but more of a subconscious novelty, he reached for his seatbelt. He could hear the mumbled voices of the two men through the door. Both of them turned their backs to the car as they started talking. After the fourth time of grasping at air, Peter huffed noisily and turned in his seat, determined to find his seatbelt.

Finished with their conversation, the two men pulled open the driver and passenger doors.

Instead of finding the flat surface of the roof of the boot, behind him, Peter found nothing, a space in its place. Giving up in his quest to find the seatbelt, he twisted round, on to his knees, to peer over the back of the seats, into the boot.

Both men had settled into their seats, by now, and the man in the horn-rimmed glasses, after turning on the ignition, glanced at the rear view mirror. He watched Peter sigh as an annoyed look flitted across his face and he twisted around in his seat.

What Peter saw made his eyes widen. A boy, around 16-17, his own age, lay battered, bloody and bruised in the back. His shirt and sweater vest untidily covered his form with spots of already dark, dry blood dotting them occasionally. The boy's hands had been hurried tied behind his back so he uncomfortably rested with his knees drawn up and his face planted into the floor. As Peter drew closer, he could see the large gash over his right eyebrow, still oozing the crimson liquid. The boy's dark hair fell over his face, obscuring the little patch not covered by the carpeting and blood. Peter reached over with a trembling hand to brush the strands aside.

Suddenly this whole thing didn't seem like such a good idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Partners

**Author:** Bluehawaii

**Pairing:** Gabriel 'Sylar' Gray/Peter Petrelli

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes

**Summary:** The Company sets out to find and employ more people, starting with Peter and Gabriel. As the years go by, they team up to help. Eventual Petlar. Both are around 17 years old.

* * *

Chapter 2

Overhead, the clouds looked ready to rain. Gabriel never liked to think in such a way that would make his mother frown, but him and his other both agreed it matched it mood perfectly.

**You shouldn't let it get to you.**

_I shouldn't, but I do._

The cracks in the pavement were suddenly the most interesting thing Gabriel had ever seen. Each step saw his foot settling in the centre of the slabs, carefully not crossing over any edges. The old rhyme passed through his head and he felt a chuckle sound from the back of his mind.

Something sharp from the backpack, slung over both his shoulders, stabbed Gabriel in the back. It probably shifted when it had been thrown to the floor during the 'scuffle'.

**Is t****hat what you're calling it?**

_Fine, when the two guys, twice my size, pushed me to the ground and stomped on my backpack, something inside it slightly moved._

**That's more like it.**

A cold drip on the top of his head brought Gabriel out of his thoughts. He looked up to the sky and felt a few more drops splatter onto his face.

**Someone is following you.**

Gabriel quickly stumbled back to reality, ignoring the fact it caused his foot to land squarely in between two slabs.

_What do you mean?_

**Exactly what I said.** Gabriel felt his other physically sigh.

_Is it those guys again?_

**I don't think so.**

The rain was falling more frequently now, and whoever was following him would think this was the reason for Gabriel's sudden change in pace.

**Let me deal with it.**

Gabriel didn't have a chance to argue before he felt his heart beat slow, considerably and his breathing become shallow. It was as if he was falling asleep; his body weak with fatigue. The only difference was that his mind was still fully awake and racing.

_Sylar, you don't even know who it is. For all you know, you're about to jump an elderly lady._

Sylar had learnt early on, how to block out the noise in the back of his mind. Gabriel would continue to find fault with everything he did, anyway, no matter what it was.

Gabriel was in the middle of a rant about how the lady was probably on her way home from a day of shopping, carrying as many bags as her tired arms would let her, dreaming about finally returning home in time to feet the cat and get out of the rain, when Sylar began to siphon off the thoughts.

With, now complete, control Sylar slowed to a steady stride. If someone was watching, they would have seen the sudden change in posture and aura. It was unmistakably confidence that made itself known.

Not knowing how exactly he was going to deal with it, he followed his intended path home. The entire time he could feel the eyes on the back of his head, just simply watching.

Sylar's fingers itched with anticipation as he rounded the final corner. If this person was planning something, now would be the time to execute it. Due to the now, thick shower of rain, anyone who would normally be outside had retreated indoors. The little sun they got was blocked by the blackened clouds so even Sylar felt comforted by the fact that no one would see him, either.

However, nothing happened. He entered the apartment building as the rain started to die down. Sylar couldn't help but mutter a '**typical**' under his breath and began climbing the steps to the apartment. Strangely, he could still sense the eyes on him.

_Maybe you're just being paranoid. I don't feel anything._

**It's not my fault you're naively oblivious.**

Being especially cautious, he skipped the step which he knew creaked. When he eventually arrived at the door, he froze. The gaze was still there, he didn't know for the life of both him and his other where, but it was.

Gabriel, who had long since finished his rant and had calmed down, continued to hold on to the thought that Sylar was being paranoid. He could feel the suspicion Sylar had as he unlocked the door. Thankfully, nothing continued to happen and Sylar stepped across the apartment threshold without anyone or thing jumping out at him.

The moment Sylar deemed it safe, that being the second the door swung shut with a flick of his fingers, he relinquished control.

He'd never admit it, though Gabriel didn't need to be told, but Sylar was very protective over him. His response to the idea always being simply, '**if you were caught, I, seeing as we share a body, would also get caught**'. Gabriel, at the time, accepted this because whenever something went wrong, Sylar would take control. During the many instances of bullying, Sylar would take the brunt of it and because of Gabriel's shouts of '_don't fight back, it'll be worse_' he took the pain for him.

Early on in the stages of what Gabriel use to refer to as 'going insane' the two of them figured out, the one inside the mind felt very little. Apart from a few strong feelings, they were virtually untouchable and Sylar preferred to keep it that way.

The welcomed and relaxing sound of ticking clocks surrounded Gabriel and he finally let out a sigh of relief. It doesn't matter what he had been through, what he had done or what had happened to him, the sound of the time passing by, each second accounted for, emptied his mind.

Right now, however, something wasn't quite right. Throughout the apartment there were countless clocks, hanging on walls, sitting on shelves and even resting on wrists. Each time piece had been painstakingly constructed to perfection, or as near perfection as Gabriel could manage. Though, just by standing in front of the doorway, Gabriel could tell one of his pieces was out of sync.

A part of Gabriel's mind automatically picked up on this and it immediately threw him off balance.

To make things worse, the doorbell decided to ring. He dropped his backpack beside the table at the door, somewhere that he would easily find it tomorrow morning. It took a while for him to sieve through the many different ticks and tocks to find the familiar ring but, in the end, he resentfully edged towards the door. From the back of his head, he felt Sylar sit up and be more alert. Obviously, the incessant, just not in time, ticking was going unnoticed by him.

The man on the other side of the door was unfamiliar to both halves as Gabriel thought he would have remembered the unusual horn-rimmed glasses he had on. His polite professional smile also stood out and, after a few moments of silence, Gabriel began to find it oddly unsettling.

It wasn't just the lack of speaking that was making Gabriel uncomfortable, it was the sudden lack of something else, something bigger. When he attempted to ask Sylar if he was experiencing the same feeling of dread, he was met with silence. Except it wasn't really silence, but a low buzzing noise, like the static between radio stations.

_What's that noise? … Sylar? … Syl-_

He was cut off mid-panicked thought, when the guy on the doorstep decided to speak up.

"Mr. Gray, I'm sure you have lots of questions. The first most likely being 'Who am I?' But in order to answer them to the best of my ability, you need to come with me."

Gabriel couldn't help but notice the way the man prolonged the word 'ability', adding to his polished smile. He barely focused on the words the man had said, more on how he said them.

Eventually the words did get through to him and he found his mind racing to come up with an answer. With Sylar being, uncharacteristically, silent, he was on his own and this was something Gabriel was not use to. Just like the other few times he found himself irrevocably alone, he began to panic.

"I…I think you may have the wrong person." With that he smiled politely, as his mother had always taught him to, and then tried to close the door. Before it could swing shut with a satisfying click, however, a foot wedged its way between the frame and the bottom of the door. It bounced off the boot, opening enough for the man to stick his hand through.

Momentarily startled, Gabriel stepped back, leaving the man free to pull the door open fully.

_Sylar?…Help…This guy…I can't deal with this._

Each unfinished thought was met with a fizzing silence. A few times there was a recognizable noise, which Gabriel guessed, was Sylar fighting whatever was happening to him.

The man stalked into the room, one hand held down at his side. In his tight grip, was a pistol, glinting dangerously due to the lamps and lights on, behind Gabriel. Breath hitched in his throat, at the sight, and Gabriel tried desperately to talk to Sylar again.

_Oh my, Sylar…he has a gun…please, help me._

Several steps away, the man reached out his other hand, gesturing for him to calm down. The motion went unheeded though, because it just drew attention to the object in his opposite hand.

"Look, if you calm down and co-operate, this will go much more smoothly."

The words fell on deaf ears, and Gabriel took steps back to coincide with the steadily approaching footsteps of the man with a gun. If this carried on, he was certain his back was going to make contact with the wall very soon. Where would he go then? He didn't know. It wasn't like he had ever been in this position before; he was terrified and shaking uncontrollably.

Soon enough, he felt the chilling dampness on his shirt being pressed into his spine, reminding him he was still wet from the rain outside. Just as he was beginning to lose hope; hands flattened against the cool surface of the wall, the mysterious buzzing, attacking his senses, suddenly stopped. His mind was clear again, he was free to think full sentences. With that in his head, he remembered Sylar.

_Are you okay? What happened?_

Gabriel more than heard the annoyed growl coming from Sylar, it rumbled worryingly in the back of his head.

_Alright, never mind that now. You need to help me. Sylar, this man, he has a gun._

**Who is he?**

_I don't know._

Sylar recognized the distress in Gabriel's voice, straight away; meaning whatever was happening was serious.

During this exchange, the man with the gun, witnessed the flicker of eyelashes and slightly forced exhale of the, to put it simply, teenager, in front of him. It looked as if a revelation had just materialized, out of nowhere, behind his eyes. Then with another sharp breath, his body tensed. The eyes looked up, making contact with his own. It was his turn to shiver.

There was a sudden feeling of the ground being tugged out from under his feet. The world around him spiraled as he was pushed backwards, crashing into the closed front door. The man's body thudded back down, sending the gun skittering off to the side out of either person's reach.

Sylar used the few precious seconds to assess the situation he found himself in. Trying to figure out how to turn it to his advantage. The noise of the sliding gun stopped when it hit the leg of the coffee table a couple of feet from him. He reached out his left hand, all the while not taking his eyes of the form of the man struggling to his feet. Sylar felt the reassuring frosty touch of the gun flattening into the palm of his hand. He smirked.

The man had made it to his feet, and both parties of the room stood staring at each other. One with a steely glint in his eyes and the other with a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Holding out the gun, Sylar heard Gabriel's voice for the first time since the fight had started.

_You can't shoot him!_

**Why not? He was planning to use it on us.**

_That's not the point. The point is that he didn't._

**Damn you and your moral high ground.**

_Well one of us needs it…_

Sylar still heard Gabriel's last statement, despite his best attempts at whispering. He forced himself to lower the sight of the gun, settling to aim at his chest instead of his head. He didn't want to lose all the control.

"Who are you?" The end of the question was punctuated by a shake of the gun, reminding the man which one of them was now in possession of it.

The man did nothing to give away any signs of fear, if he had any at all. He simply straightened out his suit and looked ahead.

"I work for a company that helps people like you." Sylar chuckled.

"People like me?" The man in the horn-rimmed glasses nodded.

"People with abilities."

Sylar side stepped to the right, planning to circle the man and remove the coffee table that was between them. The man side stepped with him. Sylar's gaze darkened and Gabriel winced; only the strong feelings get through and Gabriel could certainly feel the resentment drifting through his other half.

"I don't need help."

The man felt his throat tighten for a second, the unavoidable panic began to rise, and then he was fine, breathing regularly, looking back into the humor creased eyes of the teenager that seemed a lot older now than he did outside in the rain.

Every step Sylar took was matched by the man. Eventually they had circled around so that Sylar had his back to the door. Gun still raised, he smiled.

His next words were resting on the tip of his tongue, but before they could sound they were obscured by the clatter of the front door swinging open. He didn't even have a chance to turn towards the noise before he felt something heavy smash into the side of his head, sending him crashing to the floor. The room tilted and the man disappeared from his view. On the way down, Sylar hit the corner of the coffee table causing a resounding crack to echo through the apartment.

"What took you so long?"

The attacker remained in the doorway holding the shattered shell of the lamp he had used as a weapon. He shrugged and placed what was left of the lamp back onto the table near the door. The man in the horn-rimmed glasses let out a sigh while crouching down near the unconscious body of the teenager. There was a deep gash above the teenager's eyebrow, dripping a large amount of blood onto the carpet, and a blood matted patch of hair near the back of his head that would have to be looked at.

Sitting back on his haunches he contemplated how he was going to get the body downstairs without the inevitable suspicion it would cause if he was spotted. The man in the horn-rimmed glasses closed his eyes, rubbed his brow and sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Partners

**Author:** Bluehawaii

**Pairing:** Gabriel 'Sylar' Gray/Peter Petrelli

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes

**Summary:** The Company sets out to find and employ more people, starting with Peter and Gabriel. As the years go by, they team up to help. Eventual Petlar. Both are around 17 years old.

Chapter 3

The first thing Peter did, after recovering from finding the body of an unconscious boy in the back of a car he had stupidly gotten into, was make a lunge for the door. The man in the front watched through the rear view mirror. He sighed, one hand rubbed at his forehead while the other flicked on the child locks.

The door rattled uselessly under Peter's hand and refused to swing open. He then peered hopelessly through the windows, only then remembering that they were tinted, therefore making it impossible for anyone outside to see him.

Peter slumped back in the chair, trying to focus on leveling his breathing. Panicking now wouldn't get him anywhere; he had to think clearly if he was going to get out of here. With guilt seriously weighing him down, he thought about the boy in the back. He was obviously hurt and in need of medical help, but it would be difficult getting them both out and safe, especially considering his unconscious state. He had to think realistically.

"There's no point trying to escape now you've gotten in the car. You should have thought it through before you got in really." The man spoke to him while looking through the mirror again. All Peter could see was his eyes. "We'll have to work on your naivety. I was expecting you to put up a fight at least."

Peter crossed his arms and attempted to glare as best he could, which was a challenge considering the fear that was coursing through his veins.

"What would be the point? I'd only have ended up like him." Peter jerked his head, indicating the bruised and battered body behind him. "Did he put up a fight? Is that why you attacked him?"

"We didn't know what he was capable of. We had to be cautious."

The man signaled that that was the end of the conversation by starting up the car. Though, Peter wasn't having any of that.

"Where are you taking me?" The question was met with silence. Peter didn't bother asking again. He knew it would be fruitless.

Outside, through the tinted windows, trees buzzed by and Peter just sat back and watched them. At first he recognized the places they passed, but very soon it began to form unfamiliar territory. They had only been moving for about ten minutes, but for the first time ever, Peter actually regretted the fact that he didn't wear watches. He thought they were more annoying than useful. He had always hated the feeling of wearing a watch in hot weather, how it would stick to you and make you feel claustrophobic. However, right now, he wished he had a way of telling the time.

He could remember bringing up his dislike for wearing watches to Nathan once. He had simply laughed and said he should get a pocket watch instead, but when Peter had seriously considered it, he just laughed harder.

Nathan. God, he was going to get an earful from him. Though, in hindsight, Peter couldn't really blame him, this had been a stupid idea.

Peter was in the middle of running through ways of talking his way out of it, when he heard a groan. Instantly, he had twisted around and was kneeling on the seats. The boy was waking up. This was good. Two was better than one. Maybe they'd be able to escape now. The boy groaned again, this time it was louder, and his fingers twitched behind his back. Peter dared a glance back, the man was flickering his eyes between the road and him quite rapidly. A hiss of pain from the boy caused Peter to pay attention to him again.

Without thinking, his hand reached out towards the boy. His eyes were still closed at the time, but he was definitely awake now. The moment Peter's hand brushed back the strands of hair from his face, the eyes widened. The dark brown eyes saw him, and the hand touching him and he flinched back. Words gurgled in the boy's throat, but Peter couldn't understand any of them.

The boy quickly maneuvered himself into a sitting position facing Peter; his hands were still twitching every so often behind his back. The deer in headlights look the boy had first been sporting was swiftly replaced by a glare, but he couldn't seem to decide who to direct it at. His ever moving head let Peter finally get a good look at the gash, over his eye, which was still oozing blood. The more he moved, the more blood seemed to trickle down his face and drip off his chin.

The realization that he was bound and useless must have only just registered in the boy's mind because he suddenly started thrashing about. Twisting and turned, trying to dislodge the rope that was holding him. Peter was pretty sure he had heard the boy growl, under his breath, as well.

"Whoa, calm down. You need to stop moving."

Peter held out his hands, in what he hoped was placating gesture. If the boy kept moving around like this he was just going to exhaust himself, and they would need all the energy they could get if they were going to escape together.

His words went un-listened to though, as the boy continued to twist every which way, trying in vain to free himself. He had even started muttering, but Peter had to lean forward over the seats to catch the words.

"Where is he? I can't…I don't…I can't find him." The boy said this through gritted teeth, and his face was set in a determined expression.

Peter was slightly taken back by the tone the boy's voice had reached. It seemed much too deep and malicious for a boy currently wearing a sweater vest.

"Who? Who can't you find?"

The boy stopped, like he had just been frozen. His eyes stared ahead and he appeared to be deep in thought.

"He's not answering me. I can't even feel him anymore."

His face dropped in disappointment and something dripped off his face and landed on his shirt. For a moment, Peter thought it was tears, but then he remembered the blood. The boy didn't seem to notice, and anyway his hands were tied so he would have a hard time trying to wipe it away.

Another bead of blood made its way down his face, but this time it followed the curve of his neck and disappeared underneath his collar. The warm sensation brought him out of his reverie and he looked up to meet Peter's eyes for what felt like the first time.

"Who are you?" The boy all but growled out the question.

"I'm Peter." He then proceeded to hold out his hand, waiting for a handshake, only stopping when he remembered the situation and the current position the boy was in. "Never mind."

The car was still moving, and the man was still looking his way when he could, but Peter decided to ignore them and started to climb over the back of the seat. The boy gave him an odd look but he ignored him as well. Now that he was partly hidden behind the seats, Peter felt more at ease talking to the boy. The boy, on the other hand, still looked a bit weary about being so close.

The boot in the car wasn't big, but there was enough room for both boys to sit with their knees drawn up and still have a large enough gap between their feet.

"What's you name?"

The boy shifted before he answered, he was probably debating with himself whether to tell the truth or not.

"Sylar."

Peter's eyebrows rose at the strange name, but he didn't say anything about it.

"Ok, Sylar, do you remember how you got here?"

His eyes darted down and then to the side, towards the man who was driving. Peter didn't know if it was just a shadow or not, but he noticed Sylar's eyes darken.

"I remember that man. He came to my door with a gun. He followed me home." His eyes flickered back to Peter's. "Did they get you too? You don't look hurt."

Peter couldn't hide the sheepish look that crossed his face.

"Well, I went a bit more willingly."

Sylar scoffed lightly, as if the idea of going willingly had never once flashed through his head.

"We have to get out of here, but I can't really do anything at the moment." Sylar's voice dropped to a husky, confidential whisper. He leaned forward and shifted his shoulders to show Peter he was still tied up.

"Oh yeah, if you move forward a bit I'll untie you."

Trying to maneuver two bodies around showed them that the boot wasn't as big as they first thought. Sylar had managed to slide forward enough for his hands to now be in the open, but that left less room for Peter, who was now attempting to crawl to the other side. Against all logic, Peter somehow made it across, with minimal elbowing and kicking. It took a while, due to the odd angle he was being forced to do this, but he eventually undid the knot and freed Sylar's hands.

Straight away, his hands rubbed at the raw skin that had been disturbed by the rope. After that he used the back of the seat to hoist himself on to his knees. Peter saw what he was doing and, although he was glad he was trying to escape, he knew it would be pointless to go about it that way.

"Don't bother. Child locks."

Sylar reached over and tried anyway. When it didn't budge, he sighed then eased himself back onto the floor of the boot, using the seats to help him.

"Damn it, I though they were meant to help people. You know safety and all that."

"I don't think the people had kidnappers in mind when they made them."

Sylar frowned at Peter trying to lighten the mood, but then decided that frowning was a bad idea when it made your whole face ache. Gingerly, Sylar brought up his hand and ran it over his eyebrow. The contact instantly sent a shudder down his spine. By touch alone, he could feel that it would probably need stitches, and the drying tracks of blood down his face only proved further how urgently they needed to escape. He ran a hand through his hair and his hand got caught in the dry clumps of blood and matted hair.

Peter watched Sylar take account of all the damage down to him, but his eyes kept being drawn to the particularly nasty one above his eye. It should have stopped bleeding by now, but it still glistened when Sylar turned his head into the light.

"There must be a first aid kit around here somewhere. I mean they brought a gun, they must have been expecting a reason to use it."

Peter said this mostly to himself, he hadn't intended for Sylar to hear it. He had heard it though, because he sent Peter a disbelieving look. Peter, again, ignored him in favor of searching for a first aid kit. Following Sylar's example, Peter pulled himself to his knees and peered over the back of the seats. He couldn't see one from here, unless it was in the glove compartment, but that meant there was no way he would be getting it. Both men were silent in the front of the car, and Peter didn't want to ruin it

He was about to sit back down again when he noticed where he was sitting. Sylar followed his gaze to the floor; there was some sort of trap door.

"Move over a bit would you?"

Sylar did as he was asked, and Peter crouched down beside him. He latched his fingers under the handle and pulled. Inside, there was a folded up blanket, a torch and a first aid kit.

"See. What did I tell you?"

While smiling, Peter lifted out the kit, closed the compartment and turned back around to face Sylar. He settled down next to him, each facing opposite ways. It was a bit of a squeeze, but he needed to get close if he was going to help with these cuts. Sylar moved so that his back was flush against the side of the car. To make it easier for Peter he also straightened out his legs, hopefully giving him more room.

When Peter opened the first aid kit, he was hit by the sterile smell of a hospital room. He sifted through all the bandages and needles until he found some antiseptic and a clean cloth then closed it, as the strong smell was making him lightheaded. He opened the bottle, put the cloth over the top, and then tipped the bottle upside down.

"Okay, sit back and relax. This is going to sting."

Sylar closed his eyes and winced when Peter first dabbed the cut. Thankfully, after a while, the antiseptic began numbing the area as well, so Sylar's hand unraveled from the tight fists they had formed.

"I can't believe they did this to you."

"To be fair, it was the coffee table that did this." Sylar smirked and lifted his hand to point at the cut.

"But still, to pull out a gun. That's taking it too far."

"Not really. I mean, I wasn't exactly just going to hand us over."

"Us?"

Sylar open his eyes and sought out Peter's. He didn't have a look as though he had just slipped up, but Peter was sure he hadn't meant to say that.

"Ur…yeah. I meant you and me."

"Oh."

Peter didn't pry; he already had a pretty good idea who he was really talking about. This person must have gotten away, that's why he can't find him.

Peter finished up with the antiseptic then delved back into the kit to find a bandage big enough for the wound. With it taped in place, Peter sat back. He rested his arm across the one knee he had drawn up.

"So why did they come after you in the first place?"

"I have no idea. He didn't say, he just appeared on my doorstep." Sylar said while his hands twitched down by his sides. "Why do you think they came after you?"

Peter cupped a hand around his mouth, as though he was about to whisper a secret.

"Well, it could be because I can fly."

He had been expecting a more interesting reaction from Sylar, but he simply blinked in response. He had splayed his hands out of the floor next to him, probably to stop the twitching.

"I'm not making this up. I really can fly. So can my brother. It must be some sort of hereditary thing."

"Oh, I believe you." Peter looked surprised for a second, until his face broke out into a grin.

"Really?"

"I've heard weirder things. And besides, it makes sense."

"Why? Can you do something? Do you have an ability?"

Sylar smiled at Peter's sudden enthusiasm. He guessed they were about the same age, but you wouldn't know it by looking at them.

"Well, for the past couple of months I've been able to move things with my mind. It's basically telekinesis."

If it was possible, Peter's grin grew even bigger. It was dangerously close to splitting his face in two. Sylar hadn't noticed this before, but his smile was crooked. Normally, it would look weird, but on Peter it didn't, it suited him. His smile was infectious though, and Sylar found himself smiling back. It was no where near as large as Peter's but it was a step up from the usual glare.

"Wow, that's so much cooler than flying. Imagine how many people you could freak out with that. Just moving something slightly, every time they turned around. Nathan would really hate that."

"I don't know. I really like the idea of flying. You'd be able to escape from anything. Just jump and fly away to safety."

The grin faltered at what Sylar had said.

"It hasn't helped us get away from here, though, has it?"

"Well, if it's any consolation, I can't seem to do telekinesis at the moment either." He brought his hand up and flexed it in front of his face. "See, nothing."

Peter pulled up his other knee and folded his arms over the top of them.

"Do you think they have abilities?" Peter indicated who he was talking about by tilting his head towards the two men in the front of the car.

"The man with the gun didn't use one from what I saw, and the other guy I didn't really see at all. He came up behind me and knocked me out with a lamp." Sylar chuckled at his own words.

Everyone in the car was silent for a moment, until Peter spoke up again.

"Does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?"

"Your head. Where you were hit with the lamp."

His hand once again found itself buried in his hair. He managed to locate a lump and a patch where the blood had plastered the hair to his scalp.

"To be honest, I can't really feel anything. I mean it's throbbing, but it's numb."

The hand that had came out of his hair had drying blood on the fingertips, and Peter saw this then mentally scolded himself for not checking earlier.

"Sit forward. Let me have a look."

Sylar copied Peter's sitting position, he drew up his knees, put his folded arms on top then put his forehead down on top of them. He felt Peter's fingers delicately part the hair around the wound. He couldn't stop the hiss of pain he made when Peter brushed over the lump.

"Would you look at that? I guess it's not numb."

With his face buried in his knees, he didn't think Peter would have understood him, but he apparently had.

"That just means it's going to sting more when I put antiseptic on it."

"Just get it over and done with." Sylar sighed. Peter reached for the bottle and the cloth again, this time folding it a different way so that there was relatively no blood on it.

"The good news is that I don't think this will need stitches. It's already stopped bleeding."

"Aren't I lucky?"

Peter chuckled and Sylar felt the breath ruffle his hair. Though, with the antiseptic on his head, a breeze blowing on it wasn't a very pleasant sensation.

"Were you alone when they came for you?"

The, out of the blue, question caused Sylar's back to stiffen, but only for a second.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"I guess we're both latch key kids then."

Peter cleaned the rest of the wound in silence. After he was done, he packed everything back into the kit then moved it to the other side of the car. That left the space next to Sylar empty. He twisted around so that his back was against something solid, and put his head back, similar to the way Sylar was sitting.

"I wonder how long we've been here."

Something shifted beside him, and when Peter looked he saw Sylar was staring at the watch that was on his wrist. The rope burns were further up his arm, so it probably didn't hurt to wear it.

"It can't be more than an hour."

"Do you always wear a watch?"

Puzzled, Sylar turned his head towards Peter.

"Yeah. I find it…comforting." He said this as if he was picking his words very carefully.

Peter didn't have a chance to explain his aversion to wearing watches, because as soon as Sylar finished talking, they felt the car roll to a stop. The engine was turned off and the doors were thrown open.

The man in the horn-rimmed glasses didn't get out right away like the other man did. He, instead, turned in his chair to face the boys in the back.

"We're here, so any plans you two have concocted will have to be put on hold for the moment."

Sylar scowled at the man, while Peter crawled on his knees to the opposite window. Outside, it looked normal. They were parked in front of a normal looking building, which was surrounded by other normal buildings. There were other people walking around, just carrying on with their day like they would normally do. Most of these people probably worked here, doing whatever it is that they do here. That thought didn't fill him with confidence. Escaping now would be difficult.

The door slammed shut and the man walked around to the back of the car. He opened the boot and stared at the two boys sitting in the back. Under his jacket, the pistol, that had once been in Sylar's grip, sat in the waist of his trousers.

"Come on, get out."

Peter and Sylar shot each other a look that said 'What should we do?' Sylar made the first move. His legs were killing him and he needed to stretch. Peter watched him go and followed soon after when he realized how long he had been trapped in the car. The man waited until they were both out before he began walking towards what Peter guessed was the entrance.

"Follow me."


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Partners

**Author:** Bluehawaii

**Pairing:** Gabriel 'Sylar' Gray/Peter Petrelli

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes

**Summary:** The Company sets out to find and employ more people, starting with Peter and Gabriel. As the years go by, they team up to help. Eventual Petlar. Both are around 17 years old.

Chapter 4

They passed a sign that said 'Primatech' as they walked. He didn't recognize the name, and when he glanced around he didn't recognize anything else either. Peter shot Sylar a confused look but he just shrugged back. Peter didn't take his eyes off Sylar straight away; he noticed just how beaten and tired he looked. His clothes were rumpled and darkened with patches of blood, his face was stained red and bruised, and his hair was disheveled and a strange colour due to the dried blood. He wasn't walking like he was about to collapse, but Peter kept looking his way just in case.

The man led them inside the building, which appeared completely average on the inside as well. Everywhere he looked there was paper; they were probably in the warehouse part of the building. The only thing that led Peter to believe that there was something unusual about this building was that no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. He knew that they must look quite bizarre to an outsider's eye. If Sylar could walk through here without anyone giving him a strange look, then there was definitely something going on.

After a few corridors and turns, the man brought them to a door. Unlike every other door in this place, this one had an expensive electronic lock on it. The man pulled a card from out of his pocket and swiped it through the machine. It beeped then the door swung open. Peter laughed to himself, and Sylar turned to him, confused. Peter shook his head then followed the man through the door. It was straight out of a film; Peter didn't know how Sylar had missed it.

Through the door, the scenery changed. The browns and blues that made up the Primatech building, were swapped for paler, drab colours. The walls were an off-white colour, and the floor was grey. It made Peter uncomfortable, like the life had just been sucked out of the place.

"Where are we?" Peter asked the man, who was only a few paces ahead of them.

The man acted as though he hadn't heard Peter, he simply continued down the plain corridor. Peter was about to ask again, the key is persistence, he thought, but before he could they were brought to another door which the man quickly opened.

Instantly, Peter was hit by a familiar clean smell. The room was whiter than the corridor outside and was scarcely furnished. There was a hospital bed and a chair next to it, but that was about it. A series of counters were against one of the walls, they were painted white so they blended in, and Peter almost didn't see them.

Peter and Sylar again followed the man into the room, not knowing what else to do. They were obviously in some sort of medical ward, and Peter was grateful for that when he turned to steal a glance at Sylar once more, but he couldn't figure out why a paper company would need a medical ward. He guessed that there was very few paper related accident that couldn't be solved by a band-aid, so they probably wouldn't need a room for that. Something told him that this was more than just a paper company.

Before anyone had a chance to say anything, another man came into the room. The white coat he wore fluttered behind his legs as he walked across the room towards the counters. His presence didn't demand power as Peter would have expected for a doctor, but instead he seemed just as out of place and they felt.

The ability to command power just by being there belonged to the man that followed the doctor in. He didn't look particularly special, but his expression and stride said otherwise. He walked in like he owned the place, and for all Peter knew, maybe he did. He strode purposefully towards the man that had brought them here, who looked to him with a smile.

"Bennet! Good work; two in one. You've got a knack for this, it seems."

"Pure luck. They just happened to be in the same area at the same time."

"It can get difficult when they put up a fight, so normally one is enough" The man tilted his head towards them, indicating Sylar. Sylar scowled back at the man.

"Yeah, but it's even easier when they just agree to come with you." The man, who had brought them here, apparently called Bennet, tilted his head, indicating Peter. Peter ducked his head at the acknowledgment, an embarrassed blush reddening his face. Sylar saw this then turned the scowl towards him instead. After the ordeal he had gone through, he couldn't even imagine that Peter had just handed himself over.

The man laughed at both of them when he noticed the looks they were sending each other. He clapped Bennet on his shoulder then moved to stand at the back of the room.

Bennet stepped forward and addressed the doctor. He told him about the gash on Sylar's face and asked him if he could see to it. The doctor, straight away, sprung into action. He open the draws in the counters, searching for the all the equipment he would need. Sylar took a seat on the edge of the hospital bed; he let out a sigh as his body relaxed. Peter moved out of the way of the bed to make room for the doctor, and went to stand on the other side of the bed near the chair. He watched the doctor work, until Bennet started talking.

"Welcome to The Company."

The room was silent as Peter stared at Bennet. He didn't know what the company was, but he was now sure that this was definitely bigger than just a paper company. No one said anything else for a while, Peter was organizing his thoughts and Sylar was following the doctor's every move as he worked on him. When Sylar hissed at the pain of the doctor cleaning the wound, it brought Peter out of his thoughts.

"What's The Company?" Peter had to fight down the urge to use air quotes at this, because he was having a hard time imaging a company, that was obviously a secret, naming themselves 'The Company', and not do it ironically.

"You two are not alone in the world; you are not the only people who have found themselves with abilities. The Company was set up to help these people, to help you.

"Take for instance, the Haitian. The reason you two can't use your powers at the moment is because of him."

This caught Sylar's attention, who turned his head to get a better look around the room. The other man, who had helped bring them in, was not in the room. This Haitian's power must be pretty amazing.

The doctor huffed when Sylar's head moved around the room, but stopped when he noticed the far-away look on his face. Sylar had immediately thought of Gabriel, and began wondering what it was like for him. Could he see everything that was going on, or was he completely gone? Could he still think, or would he not remember any of this? The doctor waited until Sylar's eyes unglazed, and he seemed to realize where he was, before he continued to stitch up his face.

"There are people in this world that would not see the upside of having these abilities. There are some people who would and _do_ use them for their own personal gain. The Company was set up to deal with these people accordingly."

Peter finally sat down on the chair next to the hospital bed.

"I still don't see why you need us. I mean, we're 17, what can we do exactly?"

"Well, in the future, we hope a lot. We've come across people who have become so dependant on their abilities that they are a danger to themselves and the people around them. They need to be brought in and dealt with, and we hope with a bit of training you'll be able to do that."

"And what if we don't want to?" Sylar didn't face Bennet as he asked this, the doctor was now threading the stitches through his skin and he didn't want to nudge him now.

"Why would you _not_ want to?" Sylar just shrugged in response, being careful not to move his head as he did.

Bennet looked towards Peter, hoping he was taking this better. Peter's eyes had lit up at the idea of finding more people like him. The smile he was sporting showed Bennet that Peter was already on his side.

"Why did you need to kidnap us for this?"

"It's easier this way. We don't always know what ability someone has. It's safer." Bennet sent a pointed look towards Sylar despite the fact that it was Peter who had asked the question.

"What kind of training will we have to do?"

"Well, you'll be tracking down people who have abilities, so you'll need weapons training for a start."

Peter just looked more excited at the prospect of training, but Sylar was showing no signs as to whether he was leaning one way or the other, he was simply staring resolutely ahead as the doctor worked.

Peter thought through what he had just been told. He couldn't deny that he was interested, but then he remembered Nathan. Did he know about this? He had an ability, and although Peter was sure he wouldn't be one of those people who caused trouble with it, he didn't think Nathan would be fine with letting him work for this company.

Bennet noticed the lapse in conversation, he saw Peter staring at the floor with a contemplative look on his face and Sylar had an equally pensive look on his.

The man, who had been standing in the back of the room quietly, suddenly stepped forward.

"We'll give you a minute to think about it while you rest." With that he left, Bennet followed closely behind. The doctor stayed for a while longer, he finished the stitches, four in total, and then also left. The room was silent.

Gingerly, Sylar lifted a hand to his forehead and felt along the ridges above his eye. It didn't hurt as the doctor had numbed him beforehand, but it still felt weird and uncomfortable. Bringing his hand up to eye level reminded him that there was no longer anyone else in the room. He flexed his fingers as a test, but nothing happened. Nothing shot across the room, seemingly by its own free will. A quick shout to Gabriel also showed that he was still incapacitated. The Haitian must still be near by; they obviously didn't trust them alone with their powers.

Peter glanced up from the floor to seek out Sylar's eyes. He wanted to know what he thought of this place. They kept each others gaze for a second until Sylar frowned at Peter's hopeful expression.

"This is ridiculous. They come to my home, threaten me with a gun and knock me unconscious. Now they expect me to work for them." It didn't take much to see that Sylar was against this.

"But don't you think it sounds kind of cool. I mean, I wonder what abilities other people have. I wonder how many people work here."

"I am slightly curious about that." Sylar smirks. He thought about Gabriel. What would he say now? He probably wouldn't trust anyone here, and he would have a point.

"We're still at school, what good will we be? And what about our parents, do they know about this?"

They were silent for a while until Peter said with a smile, "But still, it would be cool." Sylar smiled back.

"What would it be like? Would it be like a part-time job after school? Like a paper round, though instead of delivering papers we'd be delivering people to this company."

Peter laughed at the look on Sylar's face as he talked, he just looked so serious. He could already see Sylar was beginning to sway to his side of thinking, though. His resolution was cracking, and all it took was a smile and a joke.

"Just imagine, we could be a team going around busting heads and taking names."

This time it was Sylar's turn to laugh. He couldn't help it, he could see Peter getting more and more excited and it was beginning to rub off on him.

"So, what do you think? Are you in?" Peter's hands fidgeted in his lap as he waited for Sylar's response. Sylar spared Gabriel one thought before he answered.

"I am if you are?"

Peter smiled his crooked grin and held out his hand. Sylar took it and they shook, sealing the deal.

Bennet took this moment to walk back in. He shouted something over his shoulder at someone who passed by. Sylar didn't quite catch it but he guessed it was directed at the Haitian as he must have still been near by. He shut the door behind him and went to stand at the foot of the bed.

"So what have you decided?"

Peter beamed then answered for both of them.

"We'll do it."

"Great, that's good news. I'm sure you two will do fine here." He clapped his hands together and then signaled the door.

"Well I think it's time you went home."

Sylar hopped off the bed, just then realizing how tired he was. The pain had been keeping him alert, but now that it was numbed he was finding himself feeling fatigued. His knees almost buckled when his feet hit the ground, but Peter was already there grasping his arm, keeping him upright. He smiled at Peter in gratitude, but shrugged his arm out of his grip, trying to prove that he was fine. Peter let go, but stayed close as they once again followed Bennet through the lifeless corridors.

The Haitian, as it turns out, had been standing just to the side of the door, and had tagged along when he saw them leave. He didn't say a word, and nor did Bennet, so Peter and Sylar followed their example and kept quiet.

They reached the door with the electronic lock and entered the warehouse again. Sylar was grateful for the noise and life that accompanied the change of scenery. The Company gave him the creeps, everything was handled with such a serious tone, and he was glad to see people talking and smiling as they went about their job handling paper. The noise also gave Peter the will to ask questions as they left.

"What's with all the paper?"

"Primatech is a front. It's a disguise. The Company is a secret and it needs to be hidden. Primatech functions perfectly well, while The Company works in its shadow." Bennet didn't look back as he spoke, he just kept walking.

"Oh." It was simple when you thought about it.

"So, that means you can't tell anyone who you now work for. If you need to tell people where you're going, you can tell them you have a part-time job here, at the Primatech paper company."

He did stop and turn around at this point, just to make sure they both understood. Peter shot Sylar an amused look.

"Does it pay better than a paper round?" Bennet looked confused by the question but answered it anyway. Peter didn't know it was the truth or not.

"Marginally."

They soon reached the outdoors and they walked towards the car they had arrived in. Sylar joked about whether he should get in the boot or not, but climbed into the back seat, after Peter, when Bennet had shook his head. Sylar wasn't sure whether he was being serious or not, he couldn't tell, and he didn't want to risk asking incase he had to sit cramped up in the boot again for another hour long journey.

After they were all in, Bennet started the car and pulled out. The ride was mostly silent as all the parties in the car realized how surreal the moment was. The only noise came from Peter, who kept piping up with scenarios of what this job might entail. When he did, Sylar just smiled and nodded, humoring him for the time being.

Peter's home was closest, so they dropped him off first. As they rolled to a stop outside the house, Sylar gaped. It was huge. It hadn't occurred to him that Peter might have been a few rungs higher than him on the social ladder. He had guessed that they were at similar levels because of the way he had acted with him; there was nothing but niceness and no insults. He wasn't use to this.

He then realized the face he must have been pulling and quickly closed his mouth, though it wasn't quick enough as Peter had seen him. He chuckled at Sylar's obvious surprise.

"It is a bit of an eye sore, I'll give you that." Sylar rolled his eyes at Peter's grin.

Peter reached over and pulled at the door handle, fully expecting it to open, but when it didn't he sighed.

"Here, take this. It should have everything you need."

Peter looked up from the door handle to find a brown envelope in front of his face. Bennet had twisted around in his chair and was holding it out for Peter to take. It looked fairly thick, and Peter discovered it was fairly heavy as well when he took it from Bennet's hands. With his hands now free, Bennet flicked off the child locks.

"We look forward to seeing you again, Peter." This was the first time Peter had seen Bennet smile genuinely so he nodded back and flung open the door. Just before he ducked out, he turned to Sylar and sent him a final crooked grin.

"I'll see you around."

He slammed the door shut and jogged around the car, off the road and onto the path, the envelope held tightly under his arm. Peter didn't look back at the car as he made his way towards his house, and still didn't when he opened the front door and disappeared inside.

Sylar watched the house until he could no longer see it and the car had traveled too far from it. They quickly arrived at his house, and Sylar was surprised that they lived so close. Bennet handed him an identical envelope with a similar smile, this time it was a bit more apologetic than Peter's. Sylar's mind subconsciously drifted to the stitches in his head and realized why. He took the enveloped and opened the door. He had one leg out when Bennet spoke.

"I think you'll do a good job at The Company, Gabriel. You put up a good fight earlier. I think you'll be a natural."

Sylar finished climbing out of the car and shut the door. This time, he didn't wait until Sylar had disappeared from view before he began to drive. As soon as the door had shut, he was driving off. Seconds after they were gone, he heard someone call his name.

_Sylar?_

**Gabriel, you're back!**

_I never went anywhere, I was still here. I could see everything you saw, hear everything you heard and I could think, but you couldn't hear me at all._

**So you know what just happened? You know what I just got us involved in?**

_Yeah, I do, and don't think it's a good idea. I mean, think about it. How are you going to explain the cut on your head, let alone all the others you're bound get while 'training'?_

Sylar didn't have to see Gabriel to know air quotes had been used on the word 'training'. He had to sigh at Gabriel's inevitable worry.

**I don't know, I'll think of something when the need arises.**

_Well the need has already risen. I don't know if you have forgotten, but you have four stitches in you forehead._

**I'll just tell her I tripped. That Haitian guy broke the lamp remember, so I'll tell I tripped, knocked the lamp over and hit my head on the coffee table. It's basically the truth anyway, and I'll just leave out the part about being threatened by a man with a gun. See, it's foolproof.**

_She'll never let us out of her sights again. She knows I'm clumsy, but if she thinks I'm so uncoordinated that I'm a danger to myself she'll want to put me on one of those baby leashes._

**Well, it will have to do because she'll be home soon.**

Sylar remembered he was just standing outside, doing nothing, so he started towards his building. He was almost to the top of the stairs, for the second time today, when Gabriel's voice cut through the quiet.

_So are you really going to go through with this Company business?_

His voice was barely above a whisper but Sylar heard it.

**Only if you want to.**

_I don't know…_

**How about we read through whatever is in this gigantic envelope then decide?**

_Okay._

He slid the key, which was thankfully still in his pocket, into the lock and flung the door open. The feeling reminded him that if Gabriel was back that also meant his ability was back. To test his theory, instead of pushing to door shut with his hand, he flicked his wrist and sighed, relieved, when it slammed shut.

Instantly, he was also reminded of what had happened here a few hours ago. A shattered lamp stood on the table by the door, and most of the glass from it was scattered in front of the door. The coffee table was pushed off centre, and on the corner of it, there appeared to be dried blood. The worst thing though, was the large patch of blood that coloured the carpet near the leg of the table. He knew he didn't have to hide it if he was going to tell her what happened, but he was still going to have to clean it as best he could.

_This place is a mess, but maybe she won't care as much when she sees your head._

**Playing the sympathy card, I like it.**

_Yeah, but it's risky. It's not foolproof like your plan._

**Your sarcasm is not appreciated at the moment.**

_It wasn't meant to be appreciative._

Sylar would have slapped Gabriel on the back of his head now, if he could have, but he couldn't, so instead, he just walked into their room. He placed the envelope in a draw for the time being. Out of sight, out of mind, he thought. Right now he had to focus on tidying up before someone came home.

For a moment, Sylar contemplated relinquishing control onto Gabriel, so he could get some rest, but quickly decided against it. It wouldn't be fair; it was his fault this had happened. Gabriel did offer to do it, but he turned him down and set about trying to pick up all the shards of glass that were littering the floor. It wouldn't do him any favors if someone walked in and trod on one before they had a chance to explain what had happened.

Then again, he didn't have high hopes for what would happen when he did explain it. Peter was lucky that he didn't have a scratch on him.

**I wonder if Peter had to come up with an excuse, not because of an injury but because he was late.**

_He could probably just say he was out with friends, and his parents wouldn't bat an eyelid._

**Yeah, too bad we can't do that. She'd be even more suspicious. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Partners

**Author:** Bluehawaii

**Pairing:** Gabriel 'Sylar' Gray/Peter Petrelli

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes

**Summary:** The Company sets out to find and employ more people, starting with Peter and Gabriel. As the years go by, they team up to help. Eventual Petlar. Both are around 17 years old.

Chapter 5

Peter quickly let himself into the house and shut the door behind him, struggling to juggle the heavy envelope around while trying to fit the key into the door. He didn't turn back to catch one final glance at the car as he heard it's engine come to life and pull away. The house felt just as still and undisturbed as it had when he had arrived home earlier. Peter guessed that, still, no one was home yet.

His school bag was sitting exactly where he had left it, so he kicked off his shoes and let them fall back where he usually left them. With the hallway now looking like it would on a regular day, Peter ventured upstairs with the envelope safely tucked in the crook of his elbow.

At the top of the stairs, he turned into the room which was the second door on the right. As he soon as he entered, he was met with a familiar surrounding. It was just like any other teenagers room, there were posters on the walls, a computer sitting on a desk, clothes littering the floor and an unmade bed. Despite its obvious untidiness, there was some sort of order to the room, which only Peter seemed to understand. This mess was just his way of organizing things.

The desk, which held his computer, sat in the corner of his room. On the surface there were a few random sheets of paper and magazines piled up haphazardly. Peter crossed the threshold and moved further into his room. He placed the bulky envelope on the desktop, silently hoping that it would not set off a chain reaction that would send the pile careening to the ground. Satisfied that it wasn't going to collapse anytime soon, he decided to go down stairs and attempt to fix himself something to eat. He hadn't realized how hungry he was, until now; it had been a long and tiring day, and he believed he deserved something worthwhile to eat.

Also, judging by the thickness of the envelope, Peter thought that he might need some sort of food in his stomach to provide him with some energy before he even tried to read through it.

When Peter left his room, he pulled the door to; it wouldn't bode well for him if someone found and read the envelope before he had even had a chance to glance over it. Peter was half way down the stairs when Sylar popped into his head. He couldn't even begin to imagine how Sylar would explain how he managed to cut and bruise himself simply while walking home. Though, Peter told himself that Sylar seemed like the type of person to be able to hold his own, considering how they actually got the wounds in the first place. So Peter didn't let himself dwell on what might have happen to Sylar when his parents saw him, it couldn't have been that bad.

* * *

The body sitting on the edge of the bed sat slumped over his knees. The position he was in made him look very vulnerable, the way his shoulders hunched up yet his head hung forward, it made him look like he was on the verge of passing out. The only thing that seemed to be holding the figure in the sitting position was the fact that he had his elbows resting on his knees. He could have passed as being unconscious due his glazed, unfocused eyes and still, unmoving body, but his hands continued to function, even if his brain didn't want them to. The figure kept turning the envelope, in his hands, over and over, never once stopping.

The figure's eyes then proceeded to remember his surroundings, though instead of looking at the envelope, he glanced around his room. It wasn't what he would call spotless, but he knew that it probably differed to the average teenager's room. There was a definite lack of mess around the room. The walls were empty of any posters and were painted a generic beige colour, which did give the room warmth but seemed to lack personality. Instead of posters, some of the walls were lined with books, the rich colour of the covers were a contrast to the bland walls, but did manage to give the room the personality it was lacking. Between the volumes of books there were a few comics squished together, they were so thin they could easily have been missed. It did give the room a lived-in feeling though, because the rest of the room was bare.

In a brighter room, the colours would have been seen as more regal, but in this dark, dingy room, the browns, whites, creams and yellows only succeeded in making the room look worn and old. Nothing like what a teenager's room should look like. The darkness also made the room look smaller and more pathetic, there was very little furnishing the room besides the basics of a bed, wardrobe and a dresser and that was most likely because nothing else would fit comfortably.

The figure flipped the envelope over one more time, which left it with the closed flap facing upwards.

"How is this going to work?" Gabriel asked the air around him. "If I say yes, will this now be my life? Will it eventually stop being a part time job and start being a full time job?"

**Stop worrying about it; you haven't even opened the envelope yet.**

With a sigh, Gabriel tossed the envelope to the side before falling back to lay on the bed; his feet were still planted on the floor and his arm were thrown out to his sides.

"I can't help it. I'm already creating scenarios of what it would be like."

**Does it look fun?**

"I guess so**, **working with Peter to bring in these people with abilities. In some cases, we'd probably be doing something that could be considered good for the world. The world would never know, of course, but that's part of being a hero, the anonymity."

**We could be just like the heroes in your comics.**

"I'm pretty sure a certain mother would have something to say about that. When she sees these cuts I doubt she will ever let me out of the house again, let alone become a superhero."

Gabriel lifted himself onto his elbows and looked across the bed to the envelope that was sitting there, appearing unimportant. After a moment of hesitation, he sat up properly again, and scooped up the envelope as he went. He had his thumb already pulling up the adhesive that was holding the flap down, when he heard the front door open. Regretting his decision to not open it sooner, Gabriel dropped the envelope and stood up.

He pulled down his shirt, which had bunched up when he had lied down on the bed. It was then that he remembered the state he was in. He knew that he would have to face someone sometime, but he hadn't really thought that maybe his mother wouldn't react well when she saw he was covered in blood.

"Gabriel, where are you?" His mother's voice sounded far away, though she was probably only in the kitchen.

Instinctively, Gabriel raised his hand to his forehead. The bandage that rested there felt obnoxiously big, for some reason. He let out a sigh, and ran a hand through his hair, forgetting that the dried blood had formed large clumps; the tangles caught around his fingers.

"Why is my lamp shattered and in the bin?" The voice was moving closer and was most likely in the living room now.

Before she could get any closer to his room, as he didn't want to have to explain the envelope at the moment, he was feeling too sluggish; he left his room and made his way towards the living room to meet his mother.

As he walked into the room, feeling like a lamb on the way to its slaughter, he saw his mother looking weirdly out of place in her own living room. She must have heard Gabriel's reluctant shuffling feet, though, because she instantly looked up from the odd stain on the carpet to stare directly at him. Her eyes widened straight away and her mouth formed a thin line.

"Gabriel?" Her tone was shaky and unsure. She took a couple of paces in his direction. "What happened? Your head…you're covered in blood." She swiftly covered the last few feet between them and lifted a hand to her son's bloodied face. Tracing the edge of the bandage was all she dared to do before she knew what had happened.

"Gabriel, tell me what happened." Her hand dipped lower to brush against the dried copper stains on Gabriel's shirt.

Noticing the protective glint in his mother's eye, Gabriel stepped back out of her reach. Her hand trailed after him, but he didn't allow her to touch him. He put on a sheepish expression, trying to make it look like he was just embarrassed about his natural talent of making a mess out of everything.

"It's nothing, really. I just tripped and hit my head on the coffee table." Gabriel couldn't help but cringe at the blunt way he had explained it. It also didn't help that his mother's mouth had opened wordlessly and her hand had twitched towards his head again. "Believe me, it looks a lot worse than it really is."

Gabriel watched his mother's eyes leave his face and glance towards the stain on the carpet she had been looking at earlier. Her features darkened as she seemed to register that it was a sizable patch.

"It wasn't that bad, but I thought I would be on the safe side and go to the hospital anyway. They put in a few stitches then sent me home, so it really isn't very serious. You don't have to worry."

She didn't say anything for a while; just inspected Gabriel for any sign of further injury. Gabriel allowed her to poke and prod him until she was satisfied.

"You need rest. Have you eaten yet?"

Gabriel was genuinely surprised by the lack of lectures, and found himself slightly speechless when his mother spoke. He hadn't eaten yet, but in all honesty, he wasn't hungry. He hated to lie to her, and although he knew it was necessary to lie about his injury, he still felt slightly guilty lying about routine things.

"Yeah, I ate earlier." A twinge of regret shot through him, but he ignored it.

"Good. Now you need to rest."

He couldn't argue with her logic, when he felt her urge him back towards his bedroom. Exhaustion made itself known as Gabriel fought back a yawn. At his door, he bid his mother goodnight; she kissed his cheek motherly, and shut the door behind him.

Gabriel smiled to himself as he made his way to the bed. He was seventeen but his mother still treated him like child. It was only times like these that made him grateful for it.

**You're such a momma's boy.**

_Shut up._

**Wow, how's that for witty repartee.**

_I'm tired, leave me alone._

Sylar chuckled in the back of Gabriel's mind, but didn't carry on the banter; he could feel just how worn out he was and agreed he could do with some sleep. After dropping unceremoniously onto the bed, he began to peel his socks off his feet. He threw them in the vague direction he knew the laundry bin was in, and then moved on to taking his vest and shirt off and replacing them with a plain t-shirt. His trousers were the last thing to join the pile of clothes half hanging out of the laundry bin, and after that he stood back up in just his boxers and a t-shirt.

It wasn't until he was about to pull back the covers and climb in, that he noticed the envelope was still lying there. Gabriel let out a sigh when he picked up its familiar weight.

_I completely forgot about this._

**Don't worry about it. Just get some sleep. You can read it in the morning.**

_Yeah. I guess._

He tossed the envelope onto his dresser, where he would read it tomorrow; at least he would be able to keep his eyes open then. With his eyelids steadily drooping, he climbed into bed. A few minutes were occupied by Gabriel fidgeting as he couldn't get comfortable. He felt disgusting, but was too tired to even contemplate a shower. Though, it didn't take long before he was out like a light.

* * *

Now that his stomach was filled with food, Peter felt a great deal more alert. He still had a while before anyone would be home, so he turned from the kitchen and began making his way up the stairs, taking them two at a time. His door was pulled to, just as he had left it. On his desk, the envelope lay undisturbed, waiting for him to read it.

Peter made himself as comfortable as he could in the plastic desk chair; he lifted his feet up to rest on the desk's surface and slid the envelope onto his lap. The glue holding the flap down was pretty weak and Peter managed to open the envelope without tearing the paper.

He pulled the wad of paper out in one and threw the now empty envelope back onto the desk. The first thing he saw was a map. It was huge, one of the ones that once you open it fully, it was near enough impossible to fold it back up the same way. Peter didn't bother opening it though, because on the side facing him it showed all he would need to know. Primatech Paper was circled with a bright red felt tip pen and was impossible to miss.

Peter tossed this on top of the envelope and moved on to the next sheet. Now that the map was gone, Peter realized that it was taking up most of the bulk, there wasn't that much left after that. Next, appeared to be a letter of introduction. Peter only skimmed it, but he got the gist. It explained what The Company was and told him they were grateful for his help, if he decided to join.

After that, there were a few sheets explaining the chain of command at The Company. Peter immediately recognized Bennet on the sheet. He was pretty high up. The only person above him was a person he also recognized. It took a minute to place him but, when he did, it made sense. It was the man who had stood silently at the back of the room while Bennet explained to them what was going on. This 'Thompson' man was obviously in charge, so it makes sense that he would come and see the potential new recruits.

Most of the people below half the page were not accompanied by a photo and only had their names. Peter read a few before turning to the next page; he probably wouldn't remember them anyway.

On the next sheet, there was a card stuck to the bottom half. Peter peeled the paper away from it, trying to get every last piece of glue off the back of the card. The top left hand corner of the card held the Primatech logo; Peter was surprised that it wasn't a card for The Company, but guessed it made sense if the company was meant to be a secret. Looking at the metal strip on the other side, made him remember the card Bennet had removed from his jacket pocket. He doubted it would get him through as many doors as Bennet's did, but it must be a similar concept.

The last sheet was basically empty apart from the small box of text in the middle of the page. It thanked Peter for taking an interest in The Company, and told him that they were looking forward to seeing him again if he chose to come back. That was everything. Peter pawed through the sheet again, just in case he had missed something the first time; but the search brought him nothing new.

He sat up straighter in his chair, placing his feet back on the ground, and reached forward for the envelope. As he was shuffling the paper into a more manageable pile with one hand, he pried the envelope open with the other. A small square slip of paper fluttered out when he tilted it, and floated on to the ground near his feet. After quickly shoving everything back into the envelope, Peter leaned down and fished the slip off of the floor.

Peter felt a bit better about the lack of useful information in the envelope when he read the note.

If you choose to join The Company, please come and meet me at Primatech on Sunday at 2pm. Hope to see you.

Bennet.

It wasn't handwritten, and Peter knew Sylar probably had a carbon copy of it in his envelope, but he was grateful for the push in the right direction. He had to admit, he was left feeling slightly confused after flicking through the sheets. It didn't really explain anything. Though, now, he at least had an idea of what he should do.

Peter bit his lip in concentration; he wondered what Sylar was going to do. He hadn't seemed very in to the idea earlier, but maybe, after giving it a while to think about, he had changed his mind. Peter had liked the thought of becoming agents for this company. Him and Sylar teaming up to fight bad guys. What could be cooler than that?

Peter reclined in his chair again, letting his thoughts stray. He felt the tension of today melting from his shoulders the lower he sat in the chair. He couldn't blame Sylar for being a bit weary about joining, he would have been shocked to see him agree without question, but he still hoped for a change of mind.

Feeling more relaxed each second; Peter lifted a leg to put it back on the desk where it had been before. The added weight of the envelope on top of the scattered papers and magazines caused the mess to become very unstable. When Peter's leg was brought into the mix, it was too much. Peter felt his foot slide off the table and he shot up in the chair, if he hadn't he would probably have ended up on the floor. He saw the papers cluttering to the ground and threw his hand out to catch them as a thoughtless reaction.

The papers stopped mid-fall, and Peter guessed it must have been because he had caught them. He praised himself on his quick reaction time, and then attempted to pile the papers back up again. It was then that he actually looked at the scene before him. The paper wasn't grasped firmly in his hand, but was instead floating unaided a few inches above the floor. His hand was held out in front of him, with quite a noticeable gap between the end of his fingers and the floating paper.

Still unsure, Peter raised his hand experimentally, grinning when the paper followed. He waved his arms in uneven circles and the paper smoothly moved as though it was caught in the wind. A laugh escaped from his lips; there was some sort of thrill watching the paper move by seemingly its own accord. An image of Sylar in the car flashed through his head. Telekinesis. It suddenly made sense. Well sort of.

Peter spent a couple of minutes guiding the paper around the room, smiling the entire time, before the novelty began to wear off. He dropped it back onto the desk, ordering them in a pile without having to use his hands. The envelope was ordered to the top of the pile.

He had no idea how or why, but he now had the ability to move things with his mind; and he was ecstatic. If he had been having doubts about going to this company, they were the last thing on his mind now. He couldn't wait until Sunday, just so he could show off to Sylar. Maybe he'd change his mind more easily if he found out Peter was just like him.

* * *

Gabriel woke really early the next morning. He wasn't surprised because he had fallen asleep rather early the evening before. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stared blurrily at the watch on his wrist; he had forgotten to take it off in his haste to get some sleep. According to the dials, which he had no reason to ever doubt, it was around seven on a Saturday morning. There was no motivation for him to get up at this time, but he felt he wouldn't be able to doze off again, especially when he still felt really gross. Plus, his mother wouldn't be up for another few hours anyway.

He regretted not showering the night before, but was relieved to discover none of the blood had rubbed off on to his sheets in the night. Without much of a thought he clambered out of bed, grabbed some fresh clothes and made his way to the bathroom.

After his much needed shower he walked back into his room, rubbing a towel over his damp hair. He had tried to keep is head out of the spray of water because of the bandage on his forehead, but he knew that he needed to get the blood out of his hair eventually, and he preferred it to be sooner rather than later.

The down side of having clean hair, though, was that the bandage on his forehead was soaked through. The tape holding it on his head was coming unstuck on one side anyway, and Gabriel knew that keeping a damp bandage on a fresh wound wasn't the cleverest of ideas. He peeled the remains of the tape off his head, wincing when a corner pulled his tender skin. As he didn't have mirror in his room, he stepped in front of the window. Outside, the weather was no better than it had been yesterday; the clouds blocked the sun and it caused the setting to look a bit downcast. The lack of sun also meant he could see his reflection in the window. A mirror would have been better, but the window still achieved the same goal. In the hazy reflection he could quite clearly make out the line cutting across his face above his eyebrow. It looked a lot better now that it was stitched up, but he knew that is would still freak his mother out when she saw it.

Gabriel turned away from the window, sighing deeply. He was alone, and he wasn't use to it. Well, as alone as he could be with Sylar snoring away somewhere in the back of his mind. The silence was actually slightly unnerving now that he thought about it, especially after the day he had had yesterday. Sitting at home with nothing to do seemed exceptionally boring when he compared it to the adventure he had the day before.

While gazing around the room, his eye caught the envelope sitting on his dresser. Again, he had forgotten completely about it. He swept it up into his hand when he walked past the dresser to sit on his bed. Quickly, so that nothing could get in the way, he pulled the flap open and slid the many sheets of paper out. Not one of the sheets was particularly interesting, and they didn't actually explain anything in detail.

After shuffling through them a few times, and peeling the card off one of them, he settled back to the sheet which showed the chain of command at The Company. He scanned the names, stopping to take in the faces of the more important people, when he spotted a name that caused a spark of recognition to pass through him. Very close to the bottom of the page, he had missed it the first time he had read it, was a name he was sure he had seen before.

Angela Petrelli. Petrelli. Where had he heard that name before?

**Peter Petrelli.**

Gabriel visibly jumped when Sylar spoke. He hadn't realized he was awake yet.

**That boy we met yesterday. His last name was Petrelli.**

_I don't remember him saying his last name._

**Bennet said it. I remember.**

_Are you sure?_

**Yes, I'm sure.**

Sylar sounded overly offended, and Gabriel smiled to placate him, despite knowing he was just acting dramatic for the hell of it.

_Do you think they're related? He didn't seem to know what was going on either._

**Petrelli isn't a very common name. Maybe he just doesn't know. It makes sense though. He wasn't beaten to a pulp; he might have special privileges or something like that.**

_Or maybe he's just naïve. Maybe he went without question, and didn't put up a useless fight._

**It didn't seem useless at the time, besides you were begging me to help.**

Gabriel kept quiet, knowing Sylar was right. He had been terrified and had begged Sylar to do something. He flicked through the papers again, until he came across the small slip of paper. Sunday at 2pm. Would Peter be there?


End file.
